


Conditional Concessions

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Cock Cages, M/M, Manchester City, Manchester Derby, Orgasm Denial, Teasing, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17231015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: 2018-11-11 A moment in time in a Manchester derby, specifically where Kun is subbed out at 75' and Pep is all up in his face practically kissing him in his enthusiasm to reassure him he's not being subbed out as punishment.





	Conditional Concessions

Kun feels his gut drop when his number is called.

He doesn't feel tired. In fact, he feels at the top of his game. Bad enough he had to sit on the bench when they played Shakhtar, but now he's not even allowed to play to the end of the derby?

He knows better than to let the disappointment show on his face, instead jogging over to where Ilkay and Pep are waiting. He high-fives Ilkay and says "go get 'em champ" and means it because Ilkay has been raring to play too and it wouldn't be fair to wish him anything but the best. They're only one point up though and even though he _thought_ a third goal was possible —

Pep is on him as soon as Ilkay's gone, grabbing his face with his hands and pressing their foreheads and noses together.

"You did good, you know?" Pep says.

"You were fantastic out there, okay?"

"This isn't a punishment. I know you're not tired. I know you can keep playing."

"You get it, right?" Pep clutches at Kun's face, tightening his grip just that little bit to let Kun know he's serious. And so Kun is forced to lift his gaze so that he's looking into Pep's eyes.

Pep stares at him, unblinking, and Kun is hit with a sudden senseless urge to kiss him, just to shut him up.

"You get it, right?" Pep repeats.

"Yeah," Kun says instead, remembering where they are and who is watching. "Yeah, I get it," he says while pulling away.

"You were fantastic," Pep repeats, holding onto his arm, "Absolutely spectacular." He's giving Kun that look where he's smiling with his eyes even though his lips are pressed in a tight line and Kun is filled with so many questions and bitter remarks but they're on live television and even though it's likely the cameras have returned to the match proper, he can't say anything for fear of being heard.

It sucks.

It absolutely sucks.

He's waited so damn long for this match, for the chance to play before the crowd. A part of him wonders if Pep is punishing him for the sudden hairstyle change but he is sound enough to dismiss that particular thought as irrational. If Pep really hated it, he would've just kept Kun on the bench.

Kun lets Pep lead him back to the sidelines. Lets Pep take a windbreaker from one of the assistants and slip it over his shoulders. Kun slides his arms through the sleeves, pushing Pep's hands away, lest Pep try to zip his jacket for him. When he's done, Pep looks at him as if to ask 'satisfied?'. But he doesn't say anything, only holds onto Kun's now-clothed upper arm and nudges him into the seat.

And so, seated side-by-side, they watch on as the rest of the match unfolds.

Ilkay is a solid player. City is stacked in such a way that everyone deserves a chance to shine and Kun knows the jokes, that they could make two separate teams out of the current squad and take first and second place in the league. Normally, Kun likes watching him play. Normally, Kun likes watching all his teammates play.

But right now, he's just simmering in disappointment and frustration. It rolls off of him in waves, he knows Pep can sense that much, but Pep doesn't say anything, doesn't try to defend himself or dismiss Kun's reaction. Instead, Pep maintains his grasp on Kun's arm, not so tight as to cut off circulation, but firm enough that Kun knows he's not going to be able to sneak off to the locker room.

And then Ilkay scores, confirming Pep's choice of substitute and Kun can't help it, he jumps out of his seat, screaming with the rest of the stadium.

"Yes!" he shouts, as proud as if he'd scored, "Yes! Yes! Manchester! Is! Blue!" he adds, pumping his fist into the air.

Kun gets ahold of himself while the rest of the team — that is, the players that are still on the pitch — are wrapped up in a victory huddle. The adrenaline floods out of his veins, leaving as quickly as it had come, and he glances down at Pep. Pep is still seated, with his arms crossed to boot, but he's looking at Kun with one arched eyebrow.

Kun huffs, plopping himself back down.

"Shut up," he says.

Pep humors him and says nothing. But this too, he finds unsatisfactory.

"I'm still pissed off," he admits, "Why the hell did you say you would save me for the derby if you're not even going to let me play for the whole thing?"

The fact Pep swallows means he heard, even through the din of the stadium as the Cityzens rest easy knowing they're two points up with five minutes left. Kun turns his head slightly to see Pep looking intently at the pitch.

Kun refuses to ask his question a second time and so they sit in silence for the remainder of the match. It ends 3-1 in City's favor and Ilkay is dazzling in his victory, as he has every right to be. And only then, as Kun is about to push himself off from the bench, does Pep deign to answer.

"My dear Sergio," he starts, using that clipped tone that means he's pissed off, "Even after all this time, you are still such a selfish player. I love your style of football, I've told you so so many times, but you simply must give your teammates the right of way from time to time."

This evaluation makes Kun bristle. How the hell did Pep still think he was selfish? He got off when the substitution was called. He wished Ilkay good luck. He even jumped up and properly cheered when Ilkay scored. Just how much more was he supposed to do?

Right as he's about to open his mouth to defend himself, Pep stands up, clearly beelining for Mourinho.

"Wait," Kun starts, standing as well. "We're not finished — "

"Indeed we're not," Pep interrupts, giving him a light push. "Go celebrate with your teammates. You're to be properly reprimanded later."

Kun isn't supposed to harden at this but he does. And he's utterly certain Pep knows it too.

But he does as told, turning on his heel and going to his teammates. He congratulates Ilkay, tousles Leroy's hair, high-fives Raheem, and returns Bernardo's bear hug. He walks arm-in-arm with Gabriel before joining the stadium in applause for a game well-played. He even has the courage to trade jerseys with David, though David is filled with too much post-match adrenaline to exchange pleasantries.

Like dulce de leche from the stove, the team proceeds from the stadium to the locker room then from the locker room to the bus until they're piling out of the bus for a celebratory dinner.

Pep excuses himself as soon as the drinks arrive, passing by Kun's seat and knicking Kun's ankle with his shoe.

Kun swallows, sits through another volley of jokes between Vincent and David (Silva, not De Gea), before excusing himself as well.

Pep is waiting for him in the bathroom.

"Lock the door," Pep says, and Kun flushes with anticipation and embarrassment, knowing full well what is about to occur.

Kun does as told.

As soon as the door is locked, Pep descends upon him, yanking his jacket off before sliding his hands up underneath the sky-blue traveling shirt.

"Even after a year," Pep chides, nipping at Kun's left ear, "And you still can't trust my decisions?"

Kun has many valid retorts, but they all drip away when Pep reaches into his pants, helping himself to Kun's erection. When Pep wraps his equally-calloused hand about it, Kun presses his forehead to the bathroom door, groaning softly.

"I don't know how many times I have to teach you this," Pep murmurs as he slowly begins stroking the shaft while circling Kun's ear with his tongue. It's ridiculous, how a handjob can be this hot, but because it's Pep — who can get him hard with his voice alone — Kun is almost used to it. Almost.

"So long as you play for City," Pep continues, speaking in-tandem with his strokes, "And so long as I am City's manager — " he stops abruptly, pulling his hand away, ignoring Kun's whine of protest, " — you do not have the right to question my decisions, understood?"

"Yes," Kun begs, as pliant as ever after this treatment, "Yes, Pep, I understand, just please — "

Pep is a wretch of a tease though. He takes Kun by the chin and turns him so that he can plant a chaste kiss on Kun's lips.

"Good boy," Pep says, with half-lidded eyes that Kun dreams about more often than he'd like. "You're a very good boy most of the time Sergio," Pep adds, and this shouldn't make him harder, it really shouldn't, "It's just that five to ten percent we need to work on, okay?" He squeezes Kun's cock through his tented pants.

Kun nods, unable to speak. He rolls his hips and whines again but Pep pays him no heed.

"Good boy," Pep repeats, kissing his cheek this time. "Clean yourself up without coming and come back to the table. If you don't come at all tonight, I'll milk you dry first thing in the morning in my office." And with that said, he unlocks the door and slips out of the bathroom, leaving Kun with a throbbing erection.

Kun groans, slamming the door shut. He squeezes his eyes, debating. He really wanted to come, but it wasn't often Pep offered to milk him. And if he came now, Pep would know. Hell, if he climaxed in the night, Pep would know.

So he mutters a curse before turning to the sink.

One night, he tells himself. Just one night. He'll definitely make it.


End file.
